My Soul to Keep
by McMuffinDragon
Summary: Young America doesn't understand the concept of death.


England strode down the dusty road that led out of town toward his colony's humble home. The carriage he'd hired in town had lost a wheel halfway through the journey; rather than wait, England had elected to walk the rest of the way and have the driver repair the wheel and bring England's belongings along later. He came upon the house and knocked on the door. No one answered; "America," he called. The weather was nice, perhaps he was out in the yard. The empire made his way around the house and pushed his way though the lilac bushes.

America sat under the big oak tree in the backyard. There was a little white bunny sitting in his lap; the boy was stroking the creature's soft fur and humming to himself. England smiled until he got closer and saw how the animal was lying; its neck looked twisted.

"England!" The young colony sat up straight and grinned widely. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Uh, yeah," England crouched down next to the boy, "It's good to get to see you again." One of the rabbit's feet was sticking out at an odd angle. "Um, what're you doing?"

America continued humming and started playing with the rabbit's ears. "I'm just waiting for Bun to wake up so we can play." England made a little choking sound. "What's wrong?"

The empire didn't know how to broach this. The boy didn't get it. "Um, l-let me see Bun." America handed the rabbit over with a smile. It lay limply in England's hands, and America remarked that he must be very tired. England thought he might cry, "America, dear, Bun's not going to wake up."

"Why?"

Never one to sugarcoat the truth, England let the words fall from his lips, "Because he's dead, dear."

"What does that mean?" The boy asked, looking at his little friend in England's hands.

England swallowed heavily, "It means he's not living anymore," the notion still seemed vague, "He'll never hop around or run or play again." He still looked puzzled, but the realization was coming over him as tears came to his eyes. Before England could console the boy, he was running away into the forest. England was left kneeling in the grass with a dead rabbit in his hands.

The Briton sat calmly under the tree by the little plot of earth he'd buried Bun under. America would come home, he was sure. When he did, England pointed out the spot where he'd buried Bun and said America could visit him.

"Why would I do that when we can't play now?" America asked with a sniffle.

England mulled the question over, "Because you can remember all the fun you had."

"But I can do that anywhere."

"True, but this is...it's a...just trust me, alright?" England had to admit the boy raised some good questions. They didn't talk about it any more for the rest of the evening.

That night, England tucked his colony into bed and gave him a little kiss on the forehead. "Are you alright now?" He asked. America nodded dumbly. England smiled and ruffled his hair before walking to the bedroom door.

"Hey, England," America called, sitting up in bed. The man looked back. "Why do things have to die?" America stared out the window and pulled on his sheets.

"They just do," England answered, coming back to sit on the bed, "that's just the way things are."

America contemplated that before asking again, "England, are you going to die?"

He was silent, "No," was his eventual reply. England himself hadn't considered the concept too much. Could a nation really die? He thought of his brothers;the people who lived there still called themselves Scottish, Welsh, and Irish. Would people still call themselves English if he was gone? "I don't know." England admitted.

The boy looked worried, "Will I die?"

"I hope not," England murmured, setting a hand on his little brother's head. They both smiled a little. With a final good night, the empire rose to leave again.

"Hey England," America called from the bed again; England turned again to show he was listening, "What'd you think it's like to die?"

"I'm not sure," England could only conjure up images of walking into bright light when he thought of the subject, "I'm sure it's not all that bad though." America nodded, all his questions answered, and laid him down to sleep.

---

"You used to be so big," America whispered as England fell, crying, into the mud. He thought of Bun and nations, and wondered if England really would die.

Omake:

America trotted down the stairs and sat under the huge oak tree in his backyard. He remarked on how blue the sky was and how white the clouds. Then he lay down and rested his hand on a little patch of clover. "I walked by the meadow we used to play in," He whispered to the ground. "It's a state park now." The nation smiled sadly and rested his head in the cool grass. "I miss you."


End file.
